


We Two Must be Twain

by Dialects_and_Costumes



Series: Sonnets are Sexy, Pass it On [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance, Masturbation May, Modern AU, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Phone Sex, This contibution coming in.... a little late...., a big hint of the following, a small hint of pining, pure substanceless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialects_and_Costumes/pseuds/Dialects_and_Costumes
Summary: If Brienne is certain of anything, it’s that it’s not going to happen again.She isn’t going to go to bed tonight thinking about her vibrator plugged into the wall, she isn’t going to let her mind drift through various fantasies as the clock ticks into the first hours of morning, and she isnotgoing to masturbate to thoughts of her closest friend.It’s justnotgoing to happen again.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Sonnets are Sexy, Pass it On [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742974
Comments: 39
Kudos: 95
Collections: J/B Monthly Madness: May 2020





	We Two Must be Twain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dame_Lazarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dame_Lazarus/gifts).



> Time has no meaning, so we're gonna ignore that the calendar technically says we're well into October. I was inspired to jump back into this by a prompt given to me by dame_lazarus on Tumblr in a list of 50 cliches: "I’m a sucker for 48 (2am ‘I need you’ call) in fiction but if someone does that to me in real life I will kill them"  
> I loved that I got to turn the call into one that definitely would make both parties MORE than satisfied. (heh)
> 
> Title comes from Shakespeare's 36th sonnet: "Let me confess that we two must be twain"

If Brienne is certain of anything, it’s that it’s not going to happen again.

She isn’t going to go to bed tonight thinking about her vibrator plugged into the wall, she isn’t going to let her mind drift through various fantasies as the clock ticks into the first hours of morning, and she is _not_ going to masturbate to thoughts of her closest friend.

It’s just _not_ going to happen again.

Brienne glares at her reflection in the mirror, willing herself to ignore the very thoughts that sent her down that treacherous path in the first place.

She’s not going to think about _Jaime_.

Jaime, with his sharp jawline and his scruffy beard. Jaime, with his wickedly twinkling eyes and his clever, capable hands. Jaime, who had left for a new coaching gig in Lys two weeks ago, gifting Brienne with the lamp she’s so studiously ignoring now.

* * *

“It’s one of those long distance things, so you’ll know when I’m thinking of you.” Jaime’s face had been as beautiful as always with his grin crinkling around his eyes and wrinkling his broad and pointed nose at her.

They had said their last goodbyes at the airport, but the real goodbye had been at Brienne’s kitchen table the night before his flight had left. If it hadn’t been for the packed bags by the door and the fresh sheets on Brienne’s pullout sofa, it would have been just like any other Friday night with Jaime. He had shown up with enough macaroni and cheese to feed a small army, and Brienne had spent the evening memorizing the exact way his hand fell to rest on his diaphragm when she made him laugh at her wry jokes. All of them at his expense.

Brienne’s brow had furrowed in an attempt to keep her emotions in check as she examined the lamp Jaime had placed in front of her on the table, and he had reached out to take her hand in his. Brienne’s focused had strayed to laser in on their hands, trying to keep her damned chin from wobbling.

 _My fingers are longer than his._ She had noted faintly in her stubborn examination preventing her from crying.

“Hey. Don’t go crying on me, Evenstar. I’m just training a new team, same as always.” Brienne huffed slightly, but her mouth curled unconsciously into the small smile it always did when Jaime insisted on the nickname.

Her smile had tightened at the edges, and she had grasped his hand tightly. “It’s at least three years of you in a whole new corner of the world trying to whip the Lys National Team into shape. It _is_ going to be different, Jaime.”

Jaime had breathed deeply, nodding. His smile had faded into a solemn acknowledgement of Brienne’s words.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. That doesn’t mean we can’t try to hold on to the best parts of you and me, yeah?”

She had nodded once before swallowing down the tears threatening to make an appearance that evening. Jaime had disappeared down the hallway with the lamp in its box while Brienne had been cleaning the kitchen, and she had only discovered its new home by her bed after they had squeezed the breath out of each other in a hug goodnight. She spent a sleepless night reaching out to run her fingers along the lampshade as her memories chased away sleep.

Flashes of them studying side by side in the King’s Landing Public library; Jaime for the “A Senior” soccer coach license and Brienne for the Weirwood Emergency Dispatcher qualifier.

Flashes of Jaime bringing sugary pastries and stealing Brienne’s more practical carrots.

Brienne had clung to her pillow when she remembered telling Jaime she was the last Tarth from Tarth, and she had grinned through the tears that finally shed when it had earned her the ‘Evenstar’ moniker he brought out to make her smile.

Their friendship had been built over a decade of change and heartbreak on both sides, and Brienne clung fiercely to every facet of it. The only person whose resolve was stronger in preserving its precious sanctuary was Jaime.

Brienne had tried to explain it to Sansa one evening as the former roommates caught up over pizza and a bizarre mix of various spirits, but no matter how many times she told the eldest Stark daughter “we love each other as friends and that’s all it ever should be”, Sansa just sighed and took a burning swig from her glass.

After all, it had practically been an accident the first time. She had watched Jaime’s first national team game at the corner pub, and Jaime looked _incredible_. The red team windbreaker he wore looked suspiciously like he had requested a tailored fitting, and the tight athletic trousers weren’t leaving anything to the imagination. Certainly not Brienne’s imagination. Without anyone (Sansa) around to shoot judging eyes from behind her curtain of red hair, Brienne suddenly found herself leaning into _looking_ at Jaime. And he looked fucking _incredible._

Her skin had felt prickly when she had fallen into bed an hour later. The Lys jersey she bought the same day Jaime had signed the contract to coach their national team felt smooth and soothing against her shoulders and stomach, so she tumbled into bed wearing it as a night shirt.

She had started by just running her hands down her legs to encourage the blood to flow, and it had been only a glimpse over at the golden glow from the lamp to bring her thoughts straight back to Jaime. Jaime, who had been grinning in triumph and who had lifted a player up in celebration with enough strength in his legs and arms to make Brienne’s mouth dry.

Between the beers she had forgotten to count and the long day she had out in front of her, Brienne had already been moaning with the feel of her still cool fingers against her warm cunt before her brain remembered the man she was fantasizing fucking her into the wall was her best friend.

* * *

So. Brienne isn’t going to look at the lamp tonight. She’s not going to will it to glow in Jaime’s favorite red to fuel her dreams, and she definitely isn’t going to prove Sansa’s longsuffering looks correctly.

She just _won’t._

Brienne continues the mantra all through her nightly routine. She hopes that glowering at her treacherous flush in the mirror as she brushes her teeth will stop her mind wandering down a less than innocent trek involving her gasping a name and gripping her headboard.

She slips under the blankets and her eyes flicker over to the lamp.

 _Why_ hadn’t she argued when Jaime insisted it go in her bedroom? Why hadn’t she moved the damn thing to a less lethal location?

As Brienne twists to find a comfortable sleeping position, she’s ignoring the voice in her head telling her exactly why she hadn’t bothered to move it. It glows periodically whenever Jaime knows she’ll be home, and Brienne feels warm when she strokes it in response to let Jaime know she’s in his corner and that she’s thinking about him.

Which is why she really can’t help how it makes her _think_ about Jaime even when it’s not casting a crimson hue on her bedroom walls. 

She thinks about how she has a keen insight into why authors might say a character’s eyes twinkled because that’s the only way to describe the way Jaime’s green eyes dance every time she ever rolled her own blue eyes at him. And with her limbs sprawled akimbo in bed, all it really takes is a single thought of seeing his eyes twinkling back up at her from between those same spread legs.

Brienne tries one last time to banish Jaime from her mind as she reaches over to unplug the vibrator from the wall. She tells herself that he’s not the reason she’s wrapping her long fingers around its length.

It’s not an image of Jaime that slips into her mind as she runs it down her torso, humming to herself as the smooth fabric of the jersey she continues to wear as a nightshirt rubs against her skin.

Brienne slides the toy under the covers, biting her lip as she feels the skin of her cheeks redden. 

“Oh, fuck it,” she mutters as her eyes flutter shut. _There’s no one on the Smith’s green earth that-ohh._. _that’ll have any clue, for seven’s sake._

Her thoughts stray immediately to Jaime at the weak permission she grants herself, and it would almost be embarrassing how fiercely she has to bite her lip to keep quiet when she turns the vibrator on.

She remembers holding his hand steady when she convinced him to play sous chef for her on one of their many game nights together, and how his blunt thumb had brushed against hers before they both turned back to the task at hand. This time, her mind wanders into the what-ifs.

_What if he had let go of the knife? What if he had grabbed my hands and pulled me close?_

_What if he had turned around and slid that hand down between my legs?_

Brienne whimpers as she slips the vibrating wand between her folds, whining as she teases herself with a gentle brush of the buzzing toy against her clit. Tonight is not a night devoted to quick relief. Tonight, Brienne is going to let the vibrator tease every last bit of her sudden lust for her best friend out of her skin.

She sighs as she lets her long legs relax, spread open under the sheets. She imagines Jaime’s hands on her inner thighs, the half-memory of his rough hands, the veins she remembers flexing as he concentrated on each slice, making her shiver. The shiver shakes out another moan and Brienne pretends to ignore how much the moan sounds like Jaime’s name falling from her lips.

Brienne’s hips are slowly rolling under the covers as she lets her mind flit from one hedonistic fantasy to the next.

Jaime, buried in between her legs.

Brienne, straddling him as she pins his hands above his head.

Jaime, kissing his way down her spine with her bent over the kitchen table.

Everything is a whirl of Jaime pressing against her, touching her, licking her, all of it making Brienne hungry for _more._

The vibrator is pulsing against her clit and Brienne’s hips are lifting up in tiny thrusts from the bed as her pleasure drives her closer and closer towards release.

_Almost there. Almost… Jaime, please_

The words tumble from her mouth as she reaches out blindly, scrambling with her free hand to find any sort of leverage to push herself harder against the fantasy-Jaime currently fucking her with the broad fingers she had tried so desperately to ignore.

She can feel her body beginning to tumble into a deep well of satisfaction, she’s close, so close-

_“If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far”_

Brienne’s eyes shoot open with a strangled cry of frustration that morphs into a hissing gasp of horror as the name flashing up on her confirms the custom ringtone Jaime demanded she use hasn’t magically turned into her default one.

Brienne takes a shuddering breath in, shoving the vibrator aside mindlessly as she rushes to swipe up, answering Jaime’s call.

“Jaime? What’s wrong?” Brienne curses whichever of the Seven preventing her voice from being anything other than breathy as she answers the phone.

“I… the light turned blue, Brienne. You were thinking about me.” Jaime’s voice sounds just as rough as his palm had felt, and Brienne bites her lip _hard_ to keep from whimpering at the way it twists around the damp tendrils of hair on her neck down to settle into her bones.

Brienne’s eyes once more stray towards the lamp, and the red glow masks the guilty blush streaking down her chest. So that’s what she had been gripping to push her hips- _NO._ Brienne screws her eyes closed to get her brain back on track.

“Oh. I-ah. I didn’t notice.” Brienne’s head is a cacophony of filth directed at the old gods, the new gods, the asshat who had invented these stupid lamps, _anyone_ she can think of to blame for her trembling limbs and trembling voice.

“So you weren’t thinking about me?” Brienne freezes at the way Jaime’s voice refuses to leave the achingly rich timbre crackling through her phone.

“I-you’re always on my mind, Jaime.” Brienne swallows down the half-truth as she says it, and she flings her own accusation at Jaime. “What in the seven hells are you doing up at two in the morning, Jaime?”

Brienne bites both of her lips at his soft huff of self-conscious laughter and tries not to let her mind wander too far down the path of imagining what it would feel like to experience that huff of laughter against her clavicle.

“I was thinking about you, Brienne.”

Brienne opens her mouth, and shuts it again.

Jaime couldn’t possibly be talking about- _no_.

They’re friends.

Old friends.

Best friends.

Brienne’s mouth, however, doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her brain’s stubborn insistence on their relationship status staying strictly in the friends-who-don’t-think-of-each-other-when-they-masturbate category and she responds with an “Oh?” that might sound playful if anyone else were saying it.

Jaime’s voice holds a hint of doubt, but it still has that delicious rumble she’s never heard from him before.

“Are you certain you weren’t thinking about me?”

Brienne’s certain her blush can be seen even in the glow of the lamp still painting the room red.

“I- no.”

Brienne catches a tiny hitch in Jaime’s breathing on the other side and her thoughts refuse to settle until Jaime starts speaking again.

“Brienne Tarth, were you thinking about me, late at night, in your bed all alone?” His voice is a growl, and Brienne can’t help herself at that point. _No one could,_ a tiny corner of her mind agrees.

Brienne whimpers, and it’s only a small release, but it feels _good._

“I was, Jaime. I was-I was thinking about you.” The words are quiet, but there’s enough heat behind them that Jaime responds with a groan.

“Fuck. Brienne, I-I don’t-“

“I know.” She saves him from the thoughts that must certainly be doing cartwheels in his head right now. Seven knows she’s done enough guilty chastising over the last few weeks to have an idea of how he’s feeling right now. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Jaime sighs on the other side. “But-I mean I want this too.” His voice drops back down to the tantalizing rumble it had been when she had answered the phone. “I want you. I _need_ you.”

Brienne’s hands reach to fumble for her vibrator again, and she tosses the covers off her legs to give herself better access. Ever practical, Brienne doesn’t react to Jaime’s delicious confession of needing her with actual words. Her own hunger is clear in the delicious moan she lets slip past her lips to resonate in Jaime’s ear on the other side of the phone.

She hears Jaime curse; the vulgarities sounding like prayers falling from his lips are all she needs to slip back to her fantasies.

“I was thinking about your hands,” Brienne whispers into her phone, shuddering as she lets the vibrations start up again, teasing her own inner thigh. “I was remembering how I had to teach you how to cut vegetables the right way, and-“ Brienne’s breath catches in her throat. “-and I wanted you to grab my hands and pull me against you.”

Jaime lets out a truly obscene moan, and Brienne shudders as she slips the vibrator back between her folds. She’s almost surprised with how wet she is after being interrupted, and she wonders for a moment if the earlier denial will make this any more sweet that it already is.

“I wanted you sitting on my face, Brienne” Jaime’s voice is half gasp, half growl, and the picture that flashes in Brienne’s head is potent. She knows how striking Jaime’s profile is, and the idea of his strong nose buried between her legs as she rocks against his mouth has her taking in gasping breaths of her own.

“Does that make you wet, Brienne?” Brienne’s eyes roll back in pleasure as she feels Jaime’s voice roll over her skin, making goosebumps appear even as she feels her blood burning through her veins.

“Yes.” She admits, biting down on her lip as another whimper overtakes her.

“Tell me- _fuck_. Tell me what you’re doing, Brienne. Please.”

It’s Jaime’s “please” that makes her moan into the phone all the ways she’s tormenting herself. She tells Jaime just how she likes to pinch at her nipples until she can see them through the fabric of her nightshirt (he groans when she says it's a Lys jersey with his name on the back), she manages to gasp out how imagining his cock inside her brings her hips off the bed, and as she turns the speed up, she whines about how good he sounds.

Jaime’s words are dirty in return, and that small corner of her brain able to cling to reality is delighted to hear the matching fantasies Jaime is barely able to babble into the phone as he tells her how hard he is for her.

It’s when Jaime begins to croon “You are being so good for me, Brienne” into his phone that Brienne has to turn her head to muffle a shriek into her pillow.

For a single blazing moment, all Brienne knows is the feel of her cunt pulsing against the silicone between her thighs and how much she can’t wait to be able to stifle her shriek into Jaime’s collarbone, and then her world goes white with the force of her climax.

She faintly hears Jaime’s filthy mouth descending into a barely intelligible litany of “fuck”s before Jaime’s own muffled cry of release filters through the speaker.

Brienne reaches out to gently touch the lamp next to her. At some point, the lamp had reset back to its original yellow glow; her long fingers against the edge of the lampshade design are once again bathed in the soft red, meaning Jaime is touching his lamp too.

The only sound for another beat is their shaky inhales, but Jaime breaks it with a soft chuckle. “Well, fuck.” Brienne tenses slightly. It’s only the fondness in Jaime’s voice that keeps her from hanging up on him. “I promised myself I’d tell you how I felt when I was back, but that’s the cat out of the bag now, huh?”

Brienne blinks in surprise, and then she smiles softly as her body relaxes.

“You could say that.”

There’s another gentle pause between the two of them.

Jaime takes a deep breath, and Brienne could weep at how open and honest his voice sounds. “Brienne, I- I like you. A lot. As more than a friend, and I want to be more than your friend when I get home.”

Brienne’s soft smile blossoms into a grin that seems to barely contain the happiness in her body, and she lets out a fake sigh. She can tell Jaime is tense on the other side because his laugh is a startled bark when she replies.

“Sansa’s going to be _impossible_ about this.”


End file.
